


We Must Surely Be Learning

by abeautifullie3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeautifullie3/pseuds/abeautifullie3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things had gone differently after Dean stopped Sam from finishing the trials?<br/>This is a story where sacrifices are made, what's truly important is remembered, and the enduring strength of an extraordinary bond is proven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Must Surely Be Learning

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally Posted Here:** [LJ Master Post](http://abeautifullie3.livejournal.com/95692.html)  
>  **Warnings:** Please visit above link for all warnings.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The story is mine. The boys, and all things canon, not mine. *pouts*
> 
> **Written for the 2013/2014 spn_reversebang**
> 
> **Artist:** mashimero  
>  **Original Art Prompt Title:** End of the Road  
> [Art Post](http://mashimero.livejournal.com/210653.html)  
>   
> 
> **Additional Notes:** Beta'd by: framedhim - who ended up being my Alpha  & Beta rolled into one. I told her to "sic it", and that she did! She gave my story thoughtful and thorough attention, then proceeded to go above and beyond by working out the kinks (no, not THOSE kinds of kinks! HeHe) with me for hours over the phone.
> 
> Any and all remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> Title and song lyrics from [_While My Guitar Gently Weeps_](http://youtu.be/kJfeLkw7-ck) by George Harrison.  
>  _So, my first RBB challenge ended up being very much that: a challenge. Muse taking me an entire universe outside of my comfort zone, and the title ending up equally as fitting for me as a writer as I felt it was for the story._
> 
> _Endless thanks go to:_
> 
> _mashimero, not only for creating art that moved me to stretch beyond my limits and being easy to work with, but for her truthfulness and encouragement._
> 
> _My BFF for having the balls to be honest - even though he knew it'd be painful for me - then proceeding to talk me down from chucking the whole thing while offering up suggestions to fix my mess._  
>   
> 
> __  
> **♥ Comments are very appreciated and highly adored!!! Absolutely ALL con-crit is desired as well! ♥**  
> 

 

**We Must Surely Be Learning**

 

_The angels are falling. But Sam is alive, right there beside him, battered but breathing. They watch as the bursts and streaks of pure white light fill the night sky. It's captivating, and horrifying, and Dean's not sure how long his attention is drawn to it before he notices the unsettling stillness beside him. Not long, mere seconds..._

_"Sam? Sam?! Sammy!"_

_**~** _

   Dean doesn't wake so much with a start as he does flailing, wrist smacking against the steering wheel, other hand catching on the sun visor and knocking it askew. His brother's name slips passed his lips, voice pleading and broken, "Sammy!"

   "Yeah, right here, Dean." Sam's voice is a calm, comforting assurance. Each syllable easing Dean's speeding pulse down a notch. "Must've been some dream."

   "I...yeah, I guess." Dean has no idea, can't remember. He feels disoriented, drugged almost, swimming in the lingering fog of that void between dreaming and awake - the dream already gone, but the waking world still too far away.

   It's morning. Sunlight gleaming on the calm surface of the pond in front of them. They're right off a dirt drive they must've pulled off on (though he can't remember that either), tall pines lining the rugged path Dean can just make out in the rear-view mirror.

   Soft as the gentle breeze carrying the scent of woods and earth and pine in through the cracked window, Sam speaks, "Remember that time Bobby took us camping..."

 

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

_**June, 1996** _

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

 

   They've never really been "camping", not exactly. A ratty old tent pitched in the woods on a hunt does not a happy family camping trip make.

   Dad dropped them at Bobby's. Said he'd be gone a couple of weeks, month tops, then was off to meet up with Caleb after a quick tousle of Sam's hair, a squeeze to Dean's shoulder, and the standard, drilled in mantra of, "Take care of your brother, Dean."

   Dean'd been all raging teenage hormones, pissed off because Dad wouldn't let him go with.

_"'m seventeen, damn it. Not a kid."_

_"It's too dangerous, Dean. Need you to sit this one out."_

   Just one night of Dean moping around the house and Bobby has them up at the crack of dawn the next morning, herding them out the front door half-asleep and into his already packed truck without a word of explanation.

   It's half a day's drive across South Dakota and into the Black Hills. Driving through the park is like being in another world, lost among the looming mountains and dense forests. They keep pressing on through, on across the border into Wyoming, Bobby mumbling something about pain in the ass regulations and idjit park rangers who can shove their fines and lectures up their keisters.

   The midday sun is riding high over the mountains as Bobby scouts out a good place for them to claim as their own for a few days. They set up camp off-site, of course. Hunters just don't go mingling with civilians unless they have to. Why take the chance of slipping up if it's not necessary?

   Bobby has the boys help him with his tent, then leaves them to their own while he retrieves the sleeping bags and fishing gear from the truck - a quarter mile back on the road from where they hiked into a dense grove of ponderosa pines.

   They'd stopped for lunch about an hour earlier, just some little mom & pop diner along the side of the road. Their special was a Reuben (which suited Bobby just fine), the extra grease that seemed to be in everything was free of charge, and judging by the smile it put on Dean's face, the cherry-berry pie they boasted was the best in all of Wyoming just might have been. While food wasn't a priority just then, when Bobby comes back announcing that dinner will be canned beans if they don't catch it, neither brother can snatch the fishing poles from Bobby's hands - or run down a barely beaten path to the stream - quick enough.

   Between what the three of them catch, they all go to bed with full bellies - and not a can of beans opened.

   After breakfast the next day, Bobby spends most of the morning and a good part of the afternoon helping the boys hone their tracking skills. While the only thing dangerous they're currently likely to come across is a bear or a mountain lion, Bobby makes sure to cover the tell-tale signs of the main (wilderness dwelling) supernatural baddies they might need to track down the road.

   The following day they hike up the side of a nearby mountain, go fishing, bathe downstream from where they caught dinner, and generally goof off.

   On the fourth day, Bobby makes the boys some sandwiches, tosses them and some other provisions in a pack, and sends the boys off to explore, demanding they give an old man some damn peace.

   Carefree and leisurely, they traipse through the woods, playing I Spy as they follow the bubbling cascade of water they'd fished in upstream. When the stream opens up into a small, secluded pond, they strip down and dive in. Gleeful shrieks and laughter send countless birds exploding into flight from the surrounding trees, neither boy noticing as unkept minutes are lost to their splashing, dunking, and chasing.  
  Worn out and water logged, they finally come out of the water and drop down to the ground, bodies cushioned by soft grass and hidden by waist-high wildflowers. Energy quickly revived with a look, a touch, they make-out like the horny teenagers they are, tongues fighting for dominance and groins grinding together for that much needed friction and release.

   Sam lies there after, head cradled on his brother's stomach and Dean's fingers leisurely carding through his still damp hair. "Love it out here."

   "Mmm, me too. Hope when I die heaven's like this."

   "Don't talk about dying, Dean. Don't want to think about ever being without you."

   Dean chuckles, fingers ruffling Sam's hair. "Don't worry, Sammy. This life, another one, heaven - always gonna be you and me."

 

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

_**~ Now ~** _

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

 

   Dazedly rubbing his nose against what feels like...denim?...Dean rouses to the realization his face is planted against Sam's crotch. While it's not a part of his brother he's entirely unfamiliar with, nor is it unusual for his mouth to spend time in the vicinity, waking up with his head in Sam's lap is NOT par for the course.

   "Hey, sleepy head."

   Dean thunks the back of his head against the steering wheel as he struggles to shift around and sit up. Smacking his lips together, he stares out at a pair of preening ducks in the pond they're parked in front of, absently thinking how his mouth tastes like ass. No, ass tastes better. At least Sammy's does and...whoa, wait...did he fall asleep again? Fuck!

   "Do you remember when we were in heaven?"

   Body jolting at the unexpected random of his brother's question, Dean shakes his head. This isn't right. Sam should be asking him important things. Bombarding him with questions and throwing out theories about...about...  
   Dean rubs a hand through his hair - recalls his own first memory in heaven: fireworks above an open field, just him and Sammy - and grumbles, "You mean when I got a glimpse of your greatest hits, me nowhere in sight in any of them- Oh, wait. Except the one where you couldn't get away from me fast enough? Yeah, how could I forget."

   "Dean, that's not," three little words, and they exude enough bitchiness for a hormonal chick's entire rant at an equal rights rally. Sam pauses though, closes his eyes with a put upon huff. Dean can see his brother's chest expand on a deep inhale of air, then hold before he slowly and purposefully exhales. It seems to have calmed him, his tone easy though his words are sure and precise. "That's not fair. I explained to you about going to Stanford, and as for the rest...yeah, they were good memories. But they weren't my only ones."

   Dean whips his head around to look at his brother, icy expression melting into one of guarded curiosity.

   "It took you awhile to find me, Dean. Long enough for me to shift through a handful of memories."

   "Yeah?" Dean can't keep the hopeful edge from his voice.

    Sam's gaze slips from the road to Dean, head turning enough to give him a tender smile that no words could ever encompass the meaning of. "Yeah." Dimples deepen before he goes on, "First thing I saw was you."

 

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

_**January, 1994** _

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

 

   "I hate him, Dean. Hate his guts."

   They're on the move again, Dad having woken them around midnight to gather their things and pile into the car. They'd slept the rest of the night huddled together under a thick, woolen blanket in the backseat, lulled by the familiar sound of the Impala's engine and softly playing classic rock. Dad had once again woken them on the still-dark side of dawn, tossing them a bag of fast-food breakfast along with a mumbled, "I'll be back." before leaving them alone in the car.

   "Sammy-"

   "No, Dean, don't you defend him, not this time! Know you think he hung the damn moon or something, and maybe you don't give a crap about school, but I... He's ruining my life!"

   "I get that you like school, and you're smart - good at it. But this - hunting - it _is_ our life, Sam."

   "Yeah? Well maybe I don't want it to be. Just because you're happy enough taking Dad's orders and want to follow in his footsteps doesn't mean I want to."

   "Sammy, we're helping people, aside from just tracking the thing that killed Mom. We save folks, Sam. Dad's raising us to be heroes."

   "Why can't somebody else do it? Why can't Dad just...let us stay with Uncle Bobby? Or Pastor Jim? I don't want to be a hero, Dean, I just want to be normal."

   "Sam-"

   "No, Dean! I want to know what it's like to stay in one school for a whole year. Or to have my own room, where I can put my clothes in drawers and posters on the walls without being forced to undo it all a week later, or worse, have to leave it all behind. I want a real Christmas. With a tree and presents and a turkey. And...and...a birthday where Dad's not missing on a hunt or passed out drunk. Dean, I want to have books that I bought with money earned from mowing the neighbors yard, or walking their dog, and not just because we left town so fast I couldn't return them to the library!"

   Dean's whole body shifts with the weight of his sigh, hand reaching out with intent to wipe away the tears streaming down his brother's cheeks. Before he can feel the wetness with his thumb, Sam jerks away.

   "Don't! Just... What do you care anyway? You don't. You want to be a Hunter. _Want_ to be just like Dad. And...and you'll grow up, and Hunting will be all you care about too, and you won't..." Sam stutters over the word, hitched up on the emotion of it, "care about me anymore!" he shouts the last through a torrent of tears, turning his back to Dean and curling in on himself against the rear door.

   "Sam, Sammy, hey! Don't...come on now!" Dean pulls at his brother's scrawny shoulder, fighting to turn him back around. "Me not caring about you? Ever? You're just talking crazy. 'ur my little brother, no way I'd ever stop caring about you."

   "You...you're all...all I ha...have, Dean."

   Tugging a little harder than he'd like, Dean manages to shift Sam around, immediately tucking his little brother tight against his side. "See now? Crazy talk. You've got Dad too. Gotta know he loves ya, Sam. And Uncle Bobby, and-"

   "No," Sam sniffles against Dean's chest, "not like you."

   "Yeah, well, I am pretty damn awesome." That gets a small incredulous snort from Sam.

   "More like a big jerk, but 'ur my-" the crying jag that had momentarily been tapering off starts up again, Sam struggling to get his words out amid hitching sobs, "my jerk, and I...I love you."

   "Aw, Sammy. Swear, with all these waterworks, puberty's tryin' to turn you from an eleven-year-old boy to a twelve-year-old girl. Promise though, Sam or Samantha, I'll still love ya."

   Sam's instantly moving, knobby knees pushing into the black vinyl of the back seat as he flings his arms around his brother's neck.

   Dean hugs right back, arms wrapping around Sam's lanky, growing frame, head tilting to allow Sam's face to nestle in along his neck.

   They stay like that for a few minutes, windows fogged up in the early morning chill from all of Sam's crying.

   Eventually, Dean eases from the embrace, still keeping his little brother close. There's a street light just to the front of the car, and the dim, haloed light filtering in through the misty car windows illuminates Sam's face. This time Dean's thumb connects, gently wiping at the last traces of wetness that didn't get rubbed off on his neck or jacket as he studies his brother's face.

   There's barely a moment to notice their synchronized breaths are coming more rapid, shallow, when it just- happens. Sam leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean's, and Dean - eyelids fluttering closed - lets him.

   The kiss is awkward. Poorly angled, Dean's lips too chapped, Sam's too salty from all his tears and snot.

   Dean pulls back, eyes still closed as his tongue swipes out over his lips, heartbeat racing wildly in his chest. "Sammy. We shouldn't..."

   When Dean doesn't go on, Sam's broken voice cuts through the growing silence, so much fear and uncertainty and need in the two words, "Dean, please."

   Shaking his head, Dean's own voice cracks and trembles, hands betraying his words as they run up and down Sam's back - each knob of his brother's spine traced beneath his fingertips, "This is...it isn't right, Sam. Just a kid. My...my little baby brother."

   The crestfallen expression on Sam's face causes Dean to flinch, but a moment later it's gone - emotions shored up as he nods and pulls back, dropping onto the seat with the barrier of his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, I get it."

   "Sammy, come on."

   "I said I get it, Dean. 'm just a stupid kid. Too young to decide what I want."

   "You're not stupid, damn it. And of course you can-" Dean stops, takes a deep breath before he goes on, "It's wrong."

   "Pretty sure credit card fraud is wrong too, Dean. Or how about digging up graves? Hot wiring cars, impersonating law enforcement, lying to pretty much anyone and everyone who isn't-"

   "Fine!" Dean cuts off Sam's petulant exemplification with a shout. "This is just...it's different, alright? I don't-"

   "Want me. Got that too, Dean," Sam's words are mumbled, head hung low and eyes focused on sneakers that have seen better days.

   "You really are an insufferable little shit sometimes, you know that? Trying to do the right thing here, and pretty sure that doesn't involve pinning my kid brother against the backseat of the car and kissing him stupid like I want."

 

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

_**~ Now ~** _

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

 

   When Dean wakes again, it's night. Sam lightly snoring beside him, cheek smooshed up against the window as a little patch of fog appears, and disappears, on the glass near his mouth.

   Random flashes of...memory? dreams?...linger, assaulting his brain with images of first tentative kisses with Sam, a smooth blacktop road, and fireworks brilliant in the sky above an open field.

   The scent of pine, clover, and wildflowers is thick, though Dean can barely make out the source in the dim glow of the crescent moon. The night sky is clear, every star visible, all the lights of the heaven's sparkling in the reflection of the pond in front of them. Off in the distance, an owl calls out into the dark. The setting is peaceful, serene.

   Dean knows something is wrong.

 

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

_**September, 2009** _

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

 

   Dean knew there was something wrong, well before the first choke-sputter-growls of the Impala. Sam's beside him, succumbed to the need for sleep while studying the map draped across his lap and part of the dash. The side of his face is flush against the window, trickle of drool winding down the glass and Sam blissfully unaware that the car is sounding her death knell.

    Sam startles awake at Dean's angry, "Son of a bitch!" map crumpling in his fists as he mumbles a groggy and confused, "What?"

   "How can you sleep through the car dying, man?"

   Sam doesn't answer, silently turning from Dean to look out through the front windshield.

   Briefly shooting a glare at his brother - Sam clearly still sleepy and disoriented - Dean slaps the palms of his hands against the steering wheel, the Impala sputtering and slowing to an inevitable halt along the deserted highway. "Damn it, Baby, come ON! Don't you do this to me!"

   "Dean-"

   "Don't!" Dean barks, cutting off his brother. The case they're on has been a big enough pain in the ass, one lead after another leaving them with more questions than answers. "This isn't... On top of everything..." The car comes to a stand still with one final, choking cough, smoke sneaking out from the grill and the seams of the hood. Dean drops his head to the steering wheel none too gently and lets his eyes slip closed.

   Sam waits several beats until he hears Dean sigh, watches the resigned slumping of his shoulders. Only then does he gingerly reach out his hand to rest it easily on Dean's back. He strokes his thumb back and forth, pressing down so his brother can feel the comfort through two layers of fabric. "Come on, pretty sure there's a town up ahead, maybe ten miles or so. We'll grab what we have to, trek up there and see if we can find a service station."

   Rolling his head against the steering wheel so he's facing his brother, Dean's eyes open and track along the lines of Sam's face. Jawline, cheekbones, the slope of his nose and high forehead. Tilted hazel eyes that see him like no one else ever has - ever could. It's often in the oddest moments - like now -where it strikes Dean just how beautiful his little brother really is.

   "Dean?" Sam presses.

   Nodding, Dean's tongue swipes out across his lips. "Yeah, okay, Sammy."  
   Despite that little intuitive voice inside telling him there's no point, Dean walks around and pops the hood as soon as he's out of the car. He's right, the radiator's cracked.  
   Gathering a few things from inside the car first, Dean makes his way back to the trunk where Sam is already cramming stuff into a knapsack. He stands there, doing a 360 of their surroundings. The landscape is barren, nothing but dirt covered hills. The setting sun casting an eerie red glow on everything, as though it's all been awashed in blood.

   When Dean comes to a standstill, staring blankly into the trunk of the car once his bag is packed, Sam wordlessly knocks a shoulder lightly into Dean's, garnering him an acknowledging grunt in reply.

   "I hate leaving her, damn it." Dean closes the trunk of his baby. Only girl, besides Mom, that he ever really loved. The body he's rebuilt too many damn times. The ancient tape deck that by some miracle hasn't once eaten any of his nearly just as old tapes. Worn seats that smell like sweat and leather and gun oil. Like him and Sam and Dad. She's seen him at his best, and his worst. Been there when everything else was stripped away. She knows all of his hopes, fears...secrets. She's where him and his baby brother grew up. Where they learned, laughed, fought, cried - where they had that first kiss.  
   Steeling his shoulders, Dean trails his fingertips over cool, black metal as he walks alongside of her, the dust of countless miles rubbing off and clinging to his skin before he reaches the end of her frame and wipes them on his jeans.

   "She's home," Sam offers, trailing behind his brother as they start up the road, "I know, Dean. But she'll be fine."

   Dean slows down, waits until Sam's beside him then matches their strides. "She's important, yeah, but you're my home, Sam."

 

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

_**~ Now ~** _

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

 

   Yes, on occasion, Sam has made him cum so hard he's blacked out.  
   Dean knows that's not what this is.  
   He comes around with Sam fucking into him with a languid roll of his hips. Long, thick cock dragging over that spot - back and forth, in and out - that drives him to make sounds he's grateful Sammy doesn't give him shit for.

   "Are you with me, Dean?" Sam's words are soft, like a feathery ghost of a kiss.

   "Yeah. Always with you, Sammy."  
   They're in the backseat of the Impala, Sam's body blanketing him - joined with him. Lying there, Dean can see the starry night sky outside the windows, the gentle lapping of nearby water reaching his ears. It hits him like a strike of blue-white lightening cutting through the darkness, the sudden awareness that he didn't use his voice to reply to Sam. While disconcerting, it's less so than realizing he didn't hear his brother's question but rather _felt_ it.

   "Sammy?" Dean's lips aren't moving.

   "I'm right here, Dean." There's no rush of breath against Dean's neck where Sam's lips are pressing.

   "Sam...Sammy, I...I don't-"

   "Shh. Do you remember when I promised I'd never leave you?"

   "I can't... Damn it, Sam, I don't know what's going on. You're not making sense, none of this is-"

   "Remember, Dean. Not from here," Sam places his fingers lightly against Dean's temple, then moves them and rests his palm over Dean's chest, "from here."

   Dean thinks to argue, but a part of him - the part of him that matters apparently - is already obeying... ... ...

 

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

_**February, 2013** _

_**> >>~S&D~<<<** _

 

   "I was wrong, Dean. So fucking wrong."

   Dean doesn't bother turning to face his brother - Sam still standing just inside the motel room door. Instead, he drops his duffel on the bed, a hand coming up to rub wearily at his eyes with his fingertips before he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I get it, Sam. You're sorry you didn't look for me. Got it the first hundred damn times."

   "No, that's not- I mean yeah, of course I'm sorry, but that's not what I'm getting at. When Crowley took you, I...I think something in me snapped. Broke. Know I've made all kinds of excuses to you since you've been back, but, I guess, that was easier than trying to explain the truth."

   Dean snorts, a harsh and cold mockery of a laugh. "The truth? What, that you just didn't give a shit? That you saw your chance to chase after what you've always wanted and you fucking took it? That the truth you're talking about, Sam?"

   "No, Dean, no! How can you even..." Sam rushes forward a few steps, halting when Dean whips his head around and fixes him with a cold, hard stare. He doesn't advance, instead reiterating firmly, "No! But I was weak, alright? Felt like I'd lost everything and I couldn't see beyond that. Wasn't able to...to pull my head out of my own ass and come up with a plan. I didn't want to live, Dean, but was too much of a fucking coward to do anything about that either, so I shut down. Shut down and went on auto-pilot until things with Amelia..." Arms that had been gesticulating wildly settle at his sides, Sam turning his gaze down and away from the scathing accusation of betrayal boring into him from hazel-green eyes.  
   The anger pulsating off of Dean with each huffed exhale of breath fills the room, and Sam hunches in on himself, tone resigned as he goes on, "And then, yeah, I chased after normal because it seemed... I don't know. I remembered that I used to want it, guess maybe a part of me thought that was the answer. That somehow it was what I was meant to be doing. And I suppose a part of me _was_ happy." Sam's head comes up at the sound of disgust his brother makes, his eyes full of earnest pleading as he gingerly closes the distance between them. "But I know better now. It wasn't real, Dean. It...it wasn't you."

   The confession is a powder keg. Sets off a clash of lips, the ripping of clothes - Sam fingering Dean open on spit and cock demanding entrance with only the added slick of pre-cum.

   Dean's chest constricts with the words Sam's whispering against the shell of his ear. Hot tears burn behind eyelids suddenly slamming at the promises breathed along his jaw, and the pleas for forgiveness pressed against the flesh of his throat.

 

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

_**~ Now ~** _

_**> >>~D&S~<<<** _

 

   There's nothing. Dean confused and lost in a black and weightless void.

   It's only been minutes yet feels like decades, all of Dean's senses struggling futilely to discern something - anything. As he's on the cusp of roaring out his panic just to hear his own voice and feel the vibration...he hears it. Fireworks. Distant, but there. He can't get to them. No ground for his feet to walk or run on, nothing to grip and pull himself along by. It's infuriating, and the panic inside him is rising again, and...Sam! Where's Sammy?! Suddenly he can't breathe, there's no air. He can't get any air and he's choking on his own fear and his brother's name clogged in his throat and...and... Flailing desperately in a black abyss, Dean manages one painful, agonizing scream, "Sammy!"

   "Open your eyes, Dean!"

   Dean does.

   The terror and panic are gone. So is the void. And Sam, Sam is right beside him, perched on the cool, black metal of the Impala's hood, the night sky above them lit up with an explosion of reds, blues, and golds.  
   Across the field he can make out two kids, the smaller one dancing and cheering as the taller boy sets off the fireworks.

   "This was your first memory, wasn't it," Sam asks, though it's really more a statement than a question.

   Dean nods, silent as he continues to watch his and Sam's younger selves. When he finally speaks, Dean's words are hesitant, "So. I, uh, take it we're-"

   "In Heaven, Dean. We're in Heaven. The fight's over, we did our parts."

   "All of that, before? The crazy flashbacks, was what exactly?"

   "Think, maybe, you couldn't face it. I'm not exactly sure. You know as well as I do how spirits sometimes get stuck for...reasons. Just know I held back. Saw the light but I didn't go - well, not completely. Needed to see what you'd do first so I straddled the line. Was terrified you wouldn't let me go, Dean, that you'd... Prayed what we'd been through with Bobby stuck. And then when you, well..." Sam trails off, allows the implication to go without words. He looks to Dean, sees the slow dawning and takes a deep, ragged breath before pressing on, "After, I stayed with you, tried to coax and ease you over with memories of us - stuck by your stubborn ass when you pulled back."

   Sam's words break the last restraints of denial, truth engulfing Dean like a swarm of bees as memories sting one right after the other...  
 _Sam so still, slumped over beside him. The eerily calm acceptance, and knowing what he needed to do next. Body of a man he can't live without too cool against him, colder yet the metal gripped tight in his hand._  
   Guilt, black and thick as tar, which was buried inside wells up - self-condemnation that had kept him from cleanly breaking from the world and now burns his eyes. "I didn't...didn't even try, Sammy. Kevin could've found something in the tablets, Crowley maybe... Damn it, I didn't even try calling for Cas again! I just..."

   "Did the right thing. You let me go."

   "Sammy, I-"

   "You weren't the only one who was tired, Dean. How many people did we save? How many battles were we right there in the thick of, sacrificing ourselves for the world - for each other? We did enough, Dean. More than. And I can't not be relieved that you didn't try to bring me back this time, or - selfishly - be glad you followed."

   Turning his head to the side, Dean's eyes flit over his brother's face and then quickly down and away, tongue unconsciously wetting his lips before his gaze is once more locking with Sam's. Finding the forgiveness and reassurance he needs in hazel depths - all of Sam's love and sincerity shining through - Dean nods, drinking in his brother's warming smile before swallowing against the lump in his throat and looking back across the field.

   Sam shifts closer to his brother until they're pressed together, bodies connected and breathing in sync. "Remember what we did after this?" he asks.

   Dean's shoulders rise and fall with his immediate snort. "You mean me going pedo and molesting my baby brother in the front seat? Yeah, I remember."

   "Dude, I wasn't some little kid! And do you _look_ like a dirty, old pervert out there?" Sam swings his hand out, indicating the decades younger Dean in the field. "Weren't even eighteen yet. Besides, pretty sure it was me snatching the keys out of your hand and climbing into your lap the second you were behind the wheel."

   "Yeah," Dean replies, hesitant to acquiesce. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Was kinda like you had three mood settings back then: nerdy, bitchy, and horny."

   Sam knocks his shoulder into Dean's as he utters, "Jerk." There's no rancor in the word or the action, dimpled smile giving him away even before he rests his head on Dean's shoulder.

   Dean immediately turns into the gesture, lips pressed into chestnut strands of hair as he mumbles an affectionate, "Bitch."

   They sit together, comfort radiating through the warm press of their bodies, watching seventeen-year-old Dean chase thirteen-year-old Sam around the field - catching him and easily tossing the boy over his shoulder with a triumphant " _whoop_ ".

   Seeing his younger self smack his kid brother on the ass - recalling all the guilt, want, and heat coiled low in his belly - Dean feels like a strange sort of voyeur, an intruder. Shifting his attention from then to now, he needlessly clears his throat. "So what, we're just supposed to sit around up here watchin' 'Sam and Dean Winchester, this is your life' with our thumbs up our asses?"

   Chuckling, Sam slides off the Impala's hood, grinning at his brother before tossing him the keys. "Nah, figure it won't be too long before Ash tracks us down. Once he knows we're staying this time, he'll be scoring us entrance to all the best Heavens."

   "Huh." The corners of Dean's mouth dip down as a single eyebrow raises up, key ring twirling around his index finger. "Didn't think of that. Could be fun. How long before you think he finds us?"

   Sam shrugs, glancing one last time out into the field before he turns and walks to the passenger door of the car. "No telling, not even sure how time works around here yet. In the mean time though, figure we can find and check out our own Heaven."

   Dean halts, driver door creaking as it's stilled half-way to opened. "Wait, our what now? I thought..."

   "Pretty sure this isn't it, Dean. Least not all of it. Think we're just on memory lane right now, keep following the road and it should take us to-"

   "Our Heaven," Dean mutters, the implication and wistfulness heavy in his tone.

   Eyes twinkling in the moonlight - ironically enough, alive in a way that Dean hasn't seen in years - Sam smiles big and wide. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

   "The chupacabra? What was it, seven, eight years ago?"

   "Gonna go out on a limb and say this version'd be monster free, but yeah. That cabin?"

   "Fully stocked kitchen, hot tub." Excitement is barely restrained in Dean's words.

   Sam's nodding, dimpled smile impossibly wider. "Private lake, king-size bed that wasn't all stained and sagging in the middle."

   "Tricked out entertainment system that made every one of those six stitches worth it."

   With a look between them over the top of the car, they scramble inside, giddy like the boys in the memory they're driving away from.

   "Even if it's not..." Sam starts.

   "It'll still be good, whatever it is," Dean finishes. Arm stretching across the back of the seat, his hand finds the nape of Sam's neck, fingers scritching up into soft waves of hair. "You and me, Sammy."

   Eyes flitting over Dean's profile, Sam shifts closer to him - against him - head once more settling on his big brother's shoulder. "You and me, Dean."

 

**> >>~D&S~<<<**

 

_The angels are falling. But Sam is alive, right there beside him, battered but breathing. They watch as the bursts and streaks of pure white light fill the night sky. It's captivating, and horrifying, and Dean's not sure how long his attention is drawn to it before he notices the unsettling stillness beside him. Not long, mere seconds..._

_"Sam? Sam?! Sammy!"_

_**~** _

_Dean drives. Far away from the church, and Crowley, and the pointless trials that took... Far away from everything._

_Dean drives into the night, until the darkness is compounded by dense trees and thick forest._

_Spotting a turn off, nothing but uneven dirt that even going slow will put a few dings in the undercarriage, Dean takes it. Half a mile over the rugged path and the pines open up to tall meadow grasses encircling a pond. Putting on the brakes and turning off the ignition, Dean stares at the reflection of the moon and stars casting on the smooth surface of the water. A tear slips down his cheek as he mourns his brother not being able to see it with him._

_He sends off a text message to Garth. Coordinates and a brief, "_ U'll know what to do. Take care man and do Bobby proud. _" before he turns off his cell._

_The box of cassette tapes from under the passenger seat is worn and battered, held together by dust and duct tape. Hardly played, except occasionally by a nostalgic Sam, since the car was still John's, Dean finds the tape he's looking for at the bottom of the box. He blows off the bits of lint and other debris before putting it in the deck._

_Again it's only nostalgia - this time, his own - that has him powering on the cassette player and turning the volume low. Memories of Sam, just a baby and toddler, curled up asleep next to Dean in the back seat while his little mouth worked away at his thumb, or Dean's - either would do - and Dad singing softly to the mix of songs his mom used to listen to, before... before._

_He hears the long past echo of his dad's voice as he gets out of the car, "_ Take care of Sammy, Dean. _" words said a hundred times over and always obeyed to the best he was able. The lengths he's gone to: deals with demons, wars with angels, bargains made with Death himself. Dean closes the front door and opens the back. "I got him, Dad."_

_Thoughts aren't welcome as he situates himself in the back seat. Dean has no want or need for second guessing, and dwelling on the task at hand will only unloosen the lump in his throat...and the torrent of tears sure to follow. Instead he focuses on the melodic sounds of Paul McCartney's voice - or maybe it's John Lennon? Sam would've known. Sam, whose body is now a lax weight, back resting against Dean's chest where he's arranged him._

_The song changes._

_"_ I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping _"_

_One hand occupied, Dean wraps the other around the front of his brother, fingers gripping worn, damp flannel. He exhales heavily, shaky. "Yeah, know you'll probably kick my ass for this when I find you on the other side, Sammy, but... Hell, man, there ain't no me if there ain't no you."_

_His lips are dry, and Dean licks them, tasting the saltiness of his tears before pressing them firmly against the cooling skin of Sam's temple. His chest tightens, heart pounding hard enough he can hear the rush of blood in his own ears. It's the survival instinct programed into his body's DNA, same as with the queasy flip of his stomach and the perspiration beading along his forehead and beneath the hair at the nape of his neck. Still, there's no hesitation when he thumbs the safety off._

_"Love you, little brother."_

 

_**> >>~ We Must Surely Be Learning ~<<<** _


End file.
